


Keep On Haunting Me

by kay_emm_gee



Series: holy water cannot help us now [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/M, Falling In Love, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 00:03:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5070115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are no such things as ghosts in Raven’s world, because science and shit. Yet, here this boy is, with his dry tone and warm smiles, haunting her anyways. Sometimes she hates how screwed up the ground is, but, other times, well–-other times it works in her favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep On Haunting Me

The first time he showed up, Raven yelled.

Not because she was scared. No, it was because the boy was reaching out to touch her pride and joy, the cooling system of the refrigerator she was slowly but surely building for the newly constructed kitchen area in the Ark.

“Do you read?” She yelled, walking swiftly around her worktable. “The sign says Touch or Die. I could elaborate the limbs I’ll lop off if you do, and the way you’d slowly bleed out because of it, but the sign should be enough!”

“Sorry,” the boy said, with a smile that was genuine and humorous all at the same time. Like he knew something she didn’t, but that he didn’t consider that an advantage, just a fact.

Raven reached out to smack his hand, but he jerked it away before she made contact. Glaring, she edged between him and the cooling system. With a chuckle, he raised his arms in surrender, backing away.

“I’ll stay away from the machines,” he promised. “I promise.”

“I don’t even know you,” she complained, not moving an inch. “What are you doing here anyways? Need something?”

“Just curious,” he said, that same smile on his face again.

“Then get out.”

“Okay.”

It was as simple as that: Raven blinked, and he was gone. After a moment of panic, she shook off the sudden chill in the room and went back to her bench. There was no use in trying to figure out why the boy had seemingly disappeared into thin air, because that was a problem she couldn’t solve. Figuring out plumbing for communal bathrooms to accompany the cabins being constructed in the yard, however–that was a problem she could damn well fix.

* * *

 

He was back again a week later, peering over her shoulder as she tinkered with some broken radios.

“How far does their signal reach?”

She flinched at how close his voice was, then glared over her shoulder. “I could have electrocuted myself, you know.”

“But you didn’t.”

 

“I could have.”

“But you didn’t. And besides, you’re telling me that the youngest zero-g mechanic in fifty-two years–

“Fifty- _two_ ,” Raven corrected automatically, before realizing it was unnecessary.

The boy just chuckled before continuing, “in fifty-two years would electrocute herself? With a radio?”

Raven pursed her lips. “Nobody likes a smartass.”

“And yet people seem to like you.”

There was something to his tone, a question that wasn’t really a question–a fact, nothing more. She ignored it, picking up her screwdriver to tinker with the defective radio again. The boy merely watched her, leaning against the windowsill behind them. She could feel his gaze just as easily as she felt the sunlight on her back, both sensations warm and constant.

“You have a name?” She asked without preamble a little while later.

“I do.”

She huffed. “And?”

“Only friends get my name.”

His cheerful tone told her that he was grinning, probably widely. “Only friends are allowed to hang out in my workroom,” she shot back.

“Reyes!”  Raven jerked her gaze up to see Wick swinging around the doorway. “Did you steal my screwdriver again?”

“No,” she replied testily.

“You’re kind of being rude,” her not-friend said from behind her.

“Shut up,” Raven muttered.

Wick rolled his eyes. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

Another eye-roll from the engineer. “Okay then.”

Over her shoulder, her visitor remarked, “I can see why you two are friends. Same terrible sense of sarcasm.”

“Shut up!” Raven barked, then clamped her lips shut when Wick’s eyebrows shot up.

“What is up with you today?” He asked, carefully, in that tone of voice that he used when working around explosive chemicals.

She did feel about ready to explode, the pressure from the two boys both staring at her building underneath her flushed skin.

“Just get out,” she sighed. “I don’t know where your damn screwdriver is.”

“I assume you mean him, not me,” the boy remarked as Wick lifted his hands in surrender before exiting.

“Of course I mean–”

The rest of the sentence caught in Raven’s throat, because she had turned around and nobody was there.

“Damn it,” she murmured, her hands beginning to shake with uncertainty. “What the hell is going on?”

* * *

 

After a few weeks–and after a few more visits from her not-friend–she wondered if this was what it had been like for Finn. Hearing voices, seeing people: not-there entities goading him to do and say things he normally would not. Except her ghost wasn’t telling her to shoot up a village–no, he was just _curious._  About her projects, the revamped Ark, all of the plans for expanding the camp, and so much more.

 _It could be Jobi nut contamination. Or maybe the radiation does affect us after all_ , she thought grimly one afternoon during a meeting with Sinclair, glaring at the empty space across from her where the boy usually stood. He was never there when there were people around, only when she was alone in her workroom. Though he denied he had control over his entrances and exits, she severely doubted him.

 _It_ , Raven reminded herself.  _Because_ he  _is not_ real.

Real or not, though, he was with her more and more, talking and joking and just _being_  there, making her smile, or drawing a laugh from her, no matter how hard she tried to stifle both of those things.

It was on a bad day, though,  _the_  bad day–Finn’s birthday–that she stopped even trying to push it– _him_ –away.

The tears came out of nowhere, probably brought forth by a quieting of the Ark hallways as midnight approached. At that time of night, she wasn’t needed by anyone, wasn’t expected to keep it together for the sake of daily survival. It was just her, and an empty workroom, and memories of a boy long gone, a boy who had left her alone even before he had drawn his last breath on the ground.

“I miss him,” she blurted to the air. “He was my  _family_ , and I miss him.”

And just like that, the boy appeared, with his dark, kind eyes, and arms wrapped around himself like armor. “I know.”

This time, though, the boy wasn’t stating a fact. He  _knew_ , not because she had said it, because it was what she was experiencing, but because he had lost someone too.

“Who?” She asked.

“My father. And a girl. A friend.”

“Ah,” Raven commented, her stomach clenching at the second loss, though the sensation dissipated before she could figure out exactly what it was. “Dead, or just gone?”

“Gone.” The word was a broken one, deep and painful, like a fatal knife wound.

Her tears came harder, hotter,  _angrier_ , because they were all supposed to gain something by coming to the ground. They were alive, she supposed, rather than suffocating to death among the stars. Still: Monty winced whenever he passed Jasper, Jasper cried out in his sleep for Maya, Harper and Monroe paled whenever someone counted off the delinquents (too few of them were left), and neither Abby nor Bellamy could even bear to hear Clarke’s name mentioned.

“The ground fucking sucks,” she yelled, slamming her palms down on the table.

There was a beat–the boy reached up to rub the side of his neck, a wry twist to his lips–before he murmured, “Yeah, it really does.”

* * *

 

Raven took pride in the fact that she was one of the only people in Camp Jaha to be able to tell Kane when he was being an idiot, but right now, it was just making her tired and annoyed.

“I can’t do it,” she argued. Again.

With a pinched brow, Kane sighed. “I cannot stress enough how much we need to strengthen the voltage of the perimeter fence. I don’t care if you have to take the power from elsewhere. It’s almost spring–we can sacrifice on heat, if need be.”

“Ah, yes,” the boy drawled, suddenly there and leaning against one of her towering shelves. “Always ready to make the great sacrifices, Kane is.”

Raven suppressed a snort, trying to ignore the comment. “Then you’re going to be the one to warn Abby we might have increased incidence of pneumonia, I’m assuming?”

Kane shot her a look that bordered on reprimanding. Before she could scowl back, though, the boy reached up and knocked a bucket off the shelf. With a loud clank, it hit the metal floor and bounced up to hit the back of Kane’s legs, startling him. Raven avoided the boy’s gaze, which was no doubt filled with amusement and satisfaction. He had played this game with Jasper and with Bellamy too, when they had come to argue with her for some reason or other. It was annoying, she tried to convince herself. The way her not-there friend grinned at her when she fought a smile at his antics, though, made it hard to hate his game.

Kane cleared his throat, catching her attention again. Hardening her expression, she continued, “Besides, not having enough power isn’t the issue.”

“Then what is?”

“Because,” she said through gritted teeth. “Even if I could find the extra power, I’d risk shorting out the gate, and rebooting it would be a nightmare.  _And_  it would take months–months of us being very much unprotected–before it would be functional again.”

“You forgot the ‘dumbass’ on the end of that,” the boy added dryly. Raven gripped the table, letting the sharpness of its edge keep her expression serious, and not laughing.

Kane sighed. “Wick said–”

The boy grinned, and a few plastic bottles fell off the shelf. They smacked Kane in the shoulder, and he narrowed his gaze at Raven, as if it were her fault. It probably didn’t help that she couldn’t prevent the corners of her mouth from upturning at the way the boy was leaning casually, smugly against the shelving unit.

It took her a minute to refocus on Kane, caught up as she was with her invisible friend. “Wick does plans, damn good ones–do  _not_  tell him I said that–but he does not do well with reality. And it doesn’t get more real than this, Kane: I will not up the voltage on the fence unless you want me risking total power failure. I cannot make myself clearer.”

With one last exasperated exhale, Kane finally seemed to register her decision, stalking out of the engineering room with heavy footfalls and a stiff spine.

“I see the fall to the ground didn’t knock the stick out of his ass,” the boy muttered.

Raven grinned, picking up a ring of wire and twirling it around her index finger. “Nope. Though he does advocate for the hundred with the council sometimes, so he’s not all bad.”

“Kane always did like an underdog.”

She glanced over at him, because he knew things, about Kane, and the council, things he was starting to let slip more easily, just as her lips were slipping up into more smiles in his presence. “So, you knew Kane? On the Ark?”

He flicked a look at her, carefully. Her palms grew clammy as he sniffed, contemplating.

“Does it matter?” He asked finally.

It took her a moment, longer than she would have liked, to answer. “No.”

His eyes widened in surprise, no doubt mirroring her own expression, because it  _was_  a surprise to her, that this boy was beyond a doubt from Alpha Station and yet he was also her friend. A prickling sensation started beneath her skin, racing up her arms, over her shoulders to gather at the back of her neck before zipping down her spine. Without taking his eyes off of her, the boy unfolded his arms, straightening, and her chest tightened as he took a step forward. He took another, and another, until he was close enough to reach out and touch. Warmth gathered in the room, blanketing her, and the air began to hum, the shelves and floor and table vibrating slightly, just a little bit faster than the beat of her racing heart.

“You’re not real,” she blurted out, and those no-take-back words hung in the air, a barrier between them, because she always was good at building things, especially walls.

“Does it matter?” He whispered, holding his hand out, palm out–a simple gesture, but it was a sledgehammer to her, breaking down all of her reservations and doubts.

Raven answered by lifting her palm and letting it hover just in front of his, watching them dance on the edge of contact. Slowly, she brought her hand forward, and just when they were about to touch, she caught his eye again, lips parting at the soft want that she saw there.

“No. It doesn’t,” she murmured, closing the distance between their palms.

A small bolt of light, a crackling shock, a sharp tingling that made her fingers go numb and her breath stop short–and then he was gone.

* * *

 

Maybe it was the firelight, and the soft hooting of the owls in the trees, that made her ask. More likely, it was the three cups of moonshine and the constant, gnawing worry and frustration that had settled deep in her gut for too many days.

“Do you believe in the afterlife?”

Bellamy jerked his gaze up from the flames. “What?”

Raven frowned, not wanting to repeat herself. “I don’t know, life after death? The people we–we care about never really leave us and all that shit?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because there are too many damn things to be worried in this life right here,” he grunted, plucking at some dry grass from the ground.

“Fair enough,” Raven responded, shrugging before taking another long sip of liquor.

So she hadn’t seen the boy in two weeks, not since they had tried to touch. He wasn’t real anyways, so what did it matter?

 _Oh, but it does_ , a voice in her head whispered sadly.

* * *

 

Raven didn’t mean to throw the wrench, but it was in her hand when the boy appeared again, and she couldn’t help herself. It sailed right through him of course, landing on the floor with a clang. He just raised his eyebrows and folded his arms across his chest.

“What was that for?” He asked, not quite enough humor in his voice.

“An experiment,” she shot back. “Note: metal does not cause apparition to disappear for weeks on end. Apparently only human touch does that.”

His expression softened, and she looked away, gathering up some spare nuts and bolts from her supply drawers. They were cold and heavy in her hand, and she rolled one between her thumb and index finger.

“So, next step?” He asked after a minute.

She just chucked a nut at him in response.

“You already tested metal,” he commented dryly.

Raven raised her eyebrows. “Repeatability. Fundamental scientific principle for experimentation.”

“Sure.”

“Really.”

“Okay.”

“ _Okay_.”

A pause, where they both smiled at each other, and then his grin wavered. “And if I do go away again?”

The catch in his voice made the tension in her gut uncoil and then twist up again. At the moment, though, she had other things to worry about–namely, everything about him and his presence–so she reached for the plastic stencil at her side, wiggling it in the air.

The boy sighed, splaying his arms out to the side. “Come at me.”

Come at him she did, and not just with small projectiles. Electrical output measurements, magnetic field measurements, radioactive activity measurements–she tried it all. The readings were wild, but none were ever the same, and it baffled and frustrated her to no end. Outrageous data could always be reconciled at some point, but  _inconsistent_  outrageous data was a different beast altogether, and an untameable one to boot.

“What are you?” She muttered, hunched over her work table and staring at the numbers from days of research. He paced, and she reached up to tighten her lopsided ponytail yet again, running calculations in her head.

“Raven,” he sighed.

“Don’t,” she warned, eyes still on the numbers.

“You know what I am.”

“I said d–”

“I’m a ghost.”

Raven swallowed at the words, because of course she knew. It didn’t make it any easier to hear though. “What am I supposed to do with that information?”

“I don’t know!”

The shelving units rattled, and bubbles frothed in her bottled-up solutions.

“Hey,” she snapped, but only half-heartedly. “Don’t screw with my workroom.”

“Oh, yes, because I’m doing this on purpose.”

“So ghosts don’t have control over their faculties?”

“I’m new at this!”

“You seemed to have no problems controlling your–whatever when you’re knocking shit off my shelves onto people.”

“Only because they really deserve it.”

Raven pursed her lips, fighting a smile, because her ghost was grinning so very unapologetically at her.

“I’m not wrong,” he chimed, still grinning.

“Yeah, yeah.” She ducked her head, hiding her red cheeks, and stared at her calculations again.

“You’ll figure it out,” he reassured her, and a pleasant tingling started at the base of her neck.

“Maybe,” she muttered. “It might be a while.”

“I’ve got nothing better to do.”

She looked up again at that, his broad face set with trust and his eyes glimmering with contentment. Warmth bloomed in her chest, setting a fire under her heart.

“It seems that I do though. So stop distracting me.”

The sound of his chuckle faded away as she let the numbers take over again, hoping something would come of them soon.

* * *

 

Soon was too much to hope for. Ideas came to her–sound frequencies and light waves couldn’t make him stay around, so she turned to energy stabilization–and she started putting her best options into action. None of them worked, but she just grew more and more determined with each failure.

“What am I missing? I have to make it work,” she muttered, crouching down and tearing at the fried, frayed wires of her latest contraption, which had just caught fire briefly and shorted out.

“Raven, it’s alright,” he said quietly.

The buzz in her ears told her he was getting too close, and she whipped around, not wanting him to disappear again. “Don’t!”

“Sorry,” he snapped, withdrawing an outstretched hand. “My mistake. Guess I won’t try to make you feel better.”

“I don’t need to be coddled, god. I just need space to think. Stop hovering.”

“Ghosts don’t hover. They  _haunt_ ,” he sniffed, almost indignantly.

She struggled to tamp down a snort at him being offended. Instead, she focused her frustration on her latest failure, ripping off salvageable panels and discarding charred metal.

“You know this isn’t easy for me either.” He took a deep breath after those words, as if they cost him something.

Raven stilled, then stood to face him, fighting the urge to run. “Then why are you still here?”

She had heard him laugh before but the hard, brittle scoff he let out now unsettled her, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue.

“Why do you think?” He rasped, staring straight at her, hands curled into fists at his side.

“You can’t–”

“I can.” There was that tone again, the one that sounded like fact, not opinion, like how he felt about her was simply a part of him. He knew it, and could say it, as easily as he would state his hair color or age or name.

Raven just stared at him, lips parted: what was she supposed to say to that.

“It’s okay,” he muttered wearily. “It’s okay if–”

“No!” She blurted. “It’s not–I don’t know if–I mean I’m not sure–”

“Raven.”

She flushed, because the way he spoke her name was soft yet raw at the same time. He walked slowly towards her, until he was standing only a few inches away. He breathed her name this time, large hands hovering in front of her hips.

“It’s not fair,” she whispered, her skin singing and her hair on end as a frantic energy strummed through her, down to her very bones. “I don’t know your name.”

“Well–”

She cut him off, surging up to press her mouth to his. There was a faint brush of warmth against her lips, and her fingers caught on what felt like fabric as they grasped in front of her, but then lightning struck.

A flash, a boom, a swear, and then she was clutching air.

“Reyes!” A terrified voice bellowed from the hallway.

“I’m fine,” she stuttered as Wick raced into her workroom. Licking her dry, tingling lips, she could taste metal and ash, and also oddly dirt. She probed them with her teeth, and the sensation sent another shock through her, on top of the current winding its way through her veins.

“What did you do, wrench monkey?” Wick asked, approaching her with a worried expression.

“Nothing,” she replied in a daze. “I didn’t do–”

“What are the scorch marks, then? Isn’t it your rules to a) do it outside and b) do it with someone–”

“Dirty,” she quipped without thinking, her memory filled with dark eyes and warm laughter instead.

“do it  _with_  someone,” Wick continued, snatching up her still outstretched hands, “if you’re going to blow something up?”

“Scorch marks?” She registered finally, looking down.

Wick was right: two smudges, almost like large footprints, were right in front of her own boots. Laughter, triumphant laughter, bubbled up inside Raven.

“Oh my god,” she murmured. “Oh my god!”

“What?”

“He’s real.”

“Who’s real?”

“And you heard the–whatever it was? Explosion? Reaction?”

“Yes, I heard it. Hell, the whole damn hall heard it. Who knows, maybe even the Grounders in the woods too!”

Raven didn’t care that Wick was looking at her like she had two heads. She pushed him back, away from her evidence. Kneeling down, she dabbed her finger in the ash, rubbing it into her thumb.

“Reyes, what the hell is going on?”

“None of your business.”

“Raven.”

She finally looked up, and her chest warmed at the serious concern in his eyes.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” she warned.

“You say that as if I don’t already.”

Rolling her eyes, she straightened, hands tapping anxiously at her thighs. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“No.”

“Then you can’t help me.” She pushed past him, but he tugged on her ponytail lightly before she got too far away. Swatting away his hand, she glared at him.

“ _I_  don’t,” he repeated, cocking his head. “But I know some people who do.”

Scrunching her nose, she scoffed. “Grounders.”

“You asked for help. I’m providing.”

“You suck at this. Giving help.”

“Well, you suck at asking for it.”

She flipped him off, and he grinned, wrapping his hand around her finger. “So do you want my help or not?”

“You’re not going to tell anyone?”

“Your business, Reyes. How’s your leg?”

“Why does that matter?” She snapped.

“Because we’re going on a long walk to find your answers. Up for it?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “Hell yes.”

“Then be ready to leave at the end of the week. I’ll get Monty to cover our work for a few days.”

* * *

 

Determination and a little desperation on her part made the trek go faster than anticipated, so they arrived at the solitary cabin set far outside the walls of a nearby Trigedakru village in just three days.

“You’re doing a great job of driving me to an early grave,” Wick wheezed, hunching over to catch his breath.

“This is it, then?” Raven said, ignoring his melodrama as she stared at the mossy shelter, with its dirt-covered windows and wind chime hanging from the small porch. The mobile of glass and stone clanged eerily in the chilly breeze, the sound sending a shiver down her spine.

“This is it.”

She finally glanced back at Wick, the softness in his voice tugging on her heartstrings. They locked gazes, and she could see the worry there.

“Wick, I need to do this,” she said. “Please.”

He wobbled his head back and forth in consideration, before dropping it with a sigh. “Okay, Reyes. Just–if you die and end up a ghost yourself, you have no right to come back and haunt me. It’ll be your own fault that you’re dead. Come back and visit me, by all means, but no haunting.”

“Fair enough,” she said with a small grin.

He surprised her by pulling her into a tight hug, an arm braced around her middle and his hand cupping the back of her head.

“Just come back, okay?” He murmured, giving her one last squeeze before pulling away.

She nodded, giving him that promise, before turning her sights back on the cabin. Even as his retreating footsteps faded, she couldn’t bring herself to move. After a few minutes, with a huff she started forward, cursing her hesitance.

As she set foot on the first front step, the door swung open, startling her.

“‘Bout time,” a woman with flowing grey hair and an even more fluid dress barked from the doorway. “Come on, come on. You’re letting the cold in.”

There was no hesitation from Raven this time; she raced up the stairs, stalking past the women into the cozy inside.

“Nice setup,” Raven remarked, spinning around to take it all in. Colorful cloth hung from every surface, draped and displayed on every inch, and she could barely move without hitting the corner of a chair or edge of a table. For such a small house, the woman had managed to cram a lot in here.

Slowly, she gravitated towards the fire, stretching out her stiff hands to warm them. The woman bustled about, producing two tin cups that she filled with some steaming liquid. A sharp, bitter smell rose from the drink when Raven took it from the woman’s gnarled hand, and she winced.

“Drink,” the woman said, her tone brooking no argument.

Pursing her lips, Raven lowered the cup to her side. “No.”

Surprisingly, the woman grinned. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

“What? Why?”

“The spirits like a little fire in someone. You’ll do just fine dealing with them.”

“Spirits?”

“Isn’t that what you came here for? To contact the other side?”

Raven faltered, feeling out of her depth, because there were not enough numbers and calculations in the world that could make sense of this entire situation. Then the wind whistled outside, the sound cold and forlorn, so different from the one sound she wanted very much to hear, and she couldn’t help but say, “I just want to talk to him.”

The woman harrumphed, cracking her neck before pushing Raven’s hand, and the cup, back up to her lips.

“You’ll need that to get what you seek,” she said, her dark eyes glittering in the low light of the cabin.

“This is so messed up,” Raven grumbled, but she obeyed, downing the nasty concoction in one large gulp.

No sooner had she licked the last drops from her lips then the fire went out with a sucking whoosh, throwing the entire room into darkness. The woman’s eyes still glimmered though, brightening until they gleamed silver.

“What do you seek?” The words came from the woman, but in place of her singular one, a hundred voices poured out in a deafening, taunting chime.

“I want to talk to–him,” Raven fumbled, realizing she had never gotten the boy’s name.

“That is what you want?”

She frowned, not liking the hint of laughter in the voices. Her thoughts churning, she couldn’t help but ask, “What else can I have?”

“Clever girl,” the voices sang. “You can have as much as you ask for.”

“I want him.”

“You want.”

“I want–”

“What do you want?”

“I want him here!” Raven snapped. “I want to be able to touch him, to have him stay. I want him to be real!”

Frigid hands suddenly grasped her own, yanking her palms upwards. Panic settled into when a blade danced across them.

“What the hell?” She yelled, struggling despite the overpowering bony grip keeping her in place.

“You must pay the price.”

“What price?” Raven demanded, annoyance warring with her fear.

“The only price: a life for a life.”

The blade pressed deeper, though it didn’t break her skin. “No.”

“Then you will not find what you seek,” the voices hissed, and an icy chill swept through the room.

Raven shivered violently, goosebumps forming on her arms. Ignoring her anger and chattering teeth, she argued, “I have already lost somebody I loved to this damn place. I have paid my price. You already have taken a life from me, so there is nothing to owe you!”

Pain shot through her middle, because time hadn’t made her forget Finn, not yet, and probably never would. Still, she held her head high, staring into the silvery eyes of who knows what it was, refusing to back down.

“Very well,” the voices proclaimed after a long moment and let go of her. “The price has been paid. You may have what you ask for.”

“But?” Raven interrupted, having listened to Bellamy’s fireside stories of deities from worlds long gone to know there was always a catch.

The voices cackled, and she flinched when fingernails scraped lightly against the side of her neck. “He has to want it too, dear,” the voices taunted in her ear, and those words made fear coil in her belly the way none of their other threats had.

Then she blinked, and the fire was flickering steadily in the hearth again. The woman was gone, and Raven’s heart sank.

A hand clamped down on her shoulder, and she shrieked, spinning around with a fist already flying–

“Fuck!”

Raven gasped as the boy stumbled back, clutching his nose.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry!” She gasped, shaking out her admittedly sore hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“You hit me,” he said, voice muffled and a bit nasal.

“You scared me! You deserved it.”

His eyes widened. “You hit me.”

“I hit you,” Raven breathed, then launched herself at him. Laughing, she twined her arms around his neck. “I hit you.”

When his arms clamped around her, so tight she could barely breathe, her heart stopped. He was warm, so very warm, and his soft chuckle against her neck sent sparks down her spine. Pressing her nose into his collarbone, she breathed in, smelling earth and a sharp, clean scent, like the air in spring.

“How?” He breathed when they pulled away, though his hands lingered at her sides, her own palms pressed against his chest.

“Genius, remember?” She teased, not bothering to tamper down the wide grin plastered on her face.

“Hm, how could I ever forget?”

She laughed, tipping her head back, because continuing to stare at him was too much.

“I’m here,” he said, sounding a little more dumbfounded this time.

“You are.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, meeting his anxious gaze head on.

“Well then,” he murmured, tugging her close.

His forehead knocked against hers, and the last thing she clearly saw was the joy in his eyes before the feel of his mouth pressed against hers consumed her. She melted into him, reveling in the gentleness, the give and give and give that came from him without a demand in return. Happiness welled up in her chest, and she pressed against him, eager to give whatever he was not asking for. Fingers slid into her hair, loosening her ponytail, and she gripped his sides, still just reveling in the solidness that had been so absent between them before. Her feet seem to sink into the ground, as if rooted there, and gravity pulled down at every part of her, except her furiously beating heart, which was stretching out towards this boy whom she never really thought she could have.

Even as her cheeks flushed, her neck flushed–hell, her whole body flushed–their movements never sped up. In fact, time seemed to slow down, each touch lasting what seemed like an hour and each sound stretching across a dozen minutes. She clutched at his face, bracketing it between her steady hands as he arched her back, deepening their kiss. It was long, and languid, without a care for time limits or endings, their giant  _fuck-you_  to the universe that had given them a start but also kept them apart.

They made gradual shuffling steps to the bed nearby, and Raven tumbled onto him, enjoying the way his lines ran against hers, before he rolled them to the side.

“How much longer do you think we have?” He breathed, heavily she noticed, satisfaction blossoming inside her.

“I don’t care,” she said, moving her mouth up to catch his again. For a second, her thoughts flitted to the special project she had painstakingly made as a last-ditch effort before leaving with Wick and brought along on this insane trip, but the spirits’ taunting stayed with her– _he has to want you too, dear_. She wouldn’t make him stay, not just yet, not when she didn’t know if he only wanted this for now, and then would be gone in the morning.

So one kiss trailed off into a dozen others, but eventually the warmth of the room and the darkness descending outside made Raven’s eyes droop.

“C’mere,” he whispered, tugging her into his side as he settled on his back. She nosed the side of his ribs, biting him through his shirt. He snorted, poking her side. “You’re exhausted.”

“Mm, maybe,” she murmured, shivering pleasantly at the way his fingers were tracing circles on her ribs. His other hand glided down her hip, tugging on her brace to arch her knee up onto his leg.

“Better?” He asked, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She glanced up at him in surprise. “Yeah.”

“Thought so.”

This time she poked his side. “What, you’ve got some ghostly know-it-all powers still?”

“No,” he replied playfully. “I just know you.”

She stilled at the comment, the certainty and truth in it striking her to her core.

“Go to sleep, Raven,” he said quietly.

“But I have–”

“Sleep.”

Muttering under her breath, she nestled into his side more, not able to resist the pull of sleep, especially in the safety of his arms.

* * *

 

Morning brightness woke her, and Raven squirmed, overheated and a little smushed. With a small grunt, she turned over in the tiny bed, inhaling sharply when her nose brushed someone else’s.

“Oh,” she breathed, eyes raking over the sleeping face right in front of hers.

 _He’s still here_ , she thought, relief slowly overtaking surprise. Her throat grew raw, and she choked up, because she remember the spirits’ proclamation all too well. It seemed she had her answer, and the jangle of the wind chime outside seemed to laugh at her, good-naturedly, as if the spirits already knew he would want her too, and for longer than one night. Just as tears began to gather in her eyes, his fluttered open. Immediately, the corners of his mouth tugged up into a smile, and she couldn’t help but do the same. His expression grew concerned, though, as he finally registered her distress.

“What’s wrong?” He demanded, propping himself up on one arm, his other hand reaching out to rest gently on her waist.

“You’re still here,” she said, ending with a watery laugh.

He joined in with a quiet chuckle of his own, sliding his hand around to her back and pressed her towards him.

“I’m still here,” he murmured, letting her cry into his chest.

The tears didn’t last long though, because  _he was still here_ , and so was she. Hell if she wasn’t going to take advantage of it.

“We should go,” she told him between a third round of kissing, thoughts reluctantly floating to Bellamy and Monty and Kane, and whether Wick had been able to prevent them from sending a group out after her. There was a whole camp no doubt awaiting her return.

“Really?” He groaned, tugging a laugh deep from her belly.

“What, you don’t want to come back and bother me in my workroom anymore?” She teased, but anxiety suddenly burned in her stomach, wondering if he would indeed come back with her.

“Maybe you’ll actually let me touch some of your stuff now,” he immediately replied, mouth twisting wryly, no doubt having sensed her hesitation.

“Speaking of stuff,” she said, reaching over for her bag, hands clasping on the chilled metal bracelet inside. “I’ve got something for you.”

“What?”

“Not that I don’t trust the Grounder spirit nonsense that brought you here–”

“Such ‘nonsense’,” he scoffed, his eyes twinkling. “Because ghosts are totally logical while spirits are not.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Yeah, no. I do not trust it at all. I do trust my own work, though.”

Before she could lose her nerve, she held out the bracelet. Based on her calculations–ones she had finally, frantically decoded at the last minute–she had rigged a stabilizer up using one of the old bracelets the delinquents had worn to Earth, scrounged from the ashes of the dropship. It was a bit heavy, but she was more than positive it would do the trick to keep him around, now that she knew he wanted to be around.

He just stared at it with an odd expression.

“It should stabilize your energy,” she explained hurriedly. “No more disappearing on me. That would be kind of inconvenient, especially during an argument. And rude.”

“And other times I suppose,” he said dryly, his gaze flicking down her body.

She rolled her eyes, and he laughed.

“So we’re going to argue? That’s what you brought me back for?”

“Shut up.”

He grinned, snapping the bracelet on. “So no more knocking bottles on people’s heads?”

Raven flicked his nose before sitting up, reaching for her clothing. “They’ll actually be able to see you now, so no, no more fun tricks for you.”

Silence stretched, and she craned a look back at him after tugging her shirt on. “What?”

He just stared at the bracelet on his raised wrist, brow furrowed. “Nothing.”

“It’s something.”

A small smirk played across his features. “Oh, I promise you, when we get back, it’ll be  _something._ ”

She watched him for another moment, trying to puzzle out his cryptic tone. Then, huffing, she stood, smacking him lightly on the stomach. “Up you go. It’s a long hike back. Your new non-ghostly legs probably won’t be able to handle it, but we’ll make do.”

“Ah, thanks for believing in me. I feel so cared about,” he commented dryly, hauling himself off the bed.

“I took on some spirits and built a bring-you-back-from-the-dead bracelet for you. That’s all you get from me this week.”

She huffed as he suddenly pulled her to him and planted a solid, heady kiss on her lips.

“Thanks for that, by the way,” he murmured, every syllable laced with intense sincerity, his grateful eyes finding hers without hesitation.

“Anytime,” she breathed, and then intertwined her hand with his. “Now let’s go.”

* * *

 

The rough forest terrain didn’t allow them to keep holding onto one another, but Raven decidedly slipped her hand into his again when they approached the camp gate.

“Where the hell have you been?” Bellamy called out, racing forward with a stormy expression, rifle at his side.

“Mind your business,” she said with a grin, which faltered as she watched the blood drain from his face.

“Jaha?” He blurted, and Raven spun around.

“Where?” She exclaimed, looking for their former chancellor.

“Right there,” Bellamy answered, sounding stunned and a little scared.

“Where?” Raven repeated, growing impatient.

The answer came from her right. “Here.”

Jerking her head, she looked at her companion. “What?”

“I did try to tell you earlier.”

“Tell me what?”

“My name.” He said it with dry amusement, but there was hesitation, even nervousness, in his dark eyes.

“Your name,” Raven repeatedly slowly. “And that is?”

“Wells. Wells Jaha.”

Shock coursed through her, because she knew the name, just had never had a face to put to it, until now, apparently. A dozen memories clicked into place: his knowledge of the council, his father gone missing, a girl–Clarke, she realized–also gone, the way he always rubbed at his neck, because she had heard that story, how he had died, too.

She gaped, lost for words, but they came rushing back to her when he tried to tug his hand from hers.

“You did  _not_  try to tell me your name,” she griped, tightening her fingers on his.

“I did too!”

“When?”

“When you asked me, in your workroom, right before we–”

“You never told me!”

“I started to, before you kiss–”

“Alright!” Raven exclaimed loudly, shooting a dark look at Bellamy, whose cough was entirely unconvincing as a cough. “So maybe you did try and tell me.”

Wells rolled his eyes. “Did Raven Reyes just admit she was wrong?”

“Shut up,” she muttered.

“Now that we’ve established that,” Bellamy cut in. “Can somebody tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Raven glanced at Wells, who was glancing at her, and broke out into a grin at the same time as he did.

“Just, you know, that I may have conquered death, because, you know, I’m a genius,” she replied smugly.

“I’ve heard, once or twice,” Bellamy drawled.

“It’s a long story,” she replied, not looking away from Wells.

“Best told around at night, around a fire,” he added, humor in his voice.

She squeezed his hand in agreement. “I mean, there’s no other way to tell a ghost story.”

“Damn straight.”

Bellamy sighed in defeat at their quips, running a hand through his hair. “Honestly, I’m not even going to try to rationalize this–I should know by now that nothing makes sense in this fucking place. So, welcome back, then, I guess.”

“Nice of you to name the camp after me,” Wells deadpanned, drawing a deep laugh from Raven, and a bewildered chuckle from Bellamy.

“Least we could do,” he murmured, reaching out a hesitant hand. “Seriously, though, welcome back.”

Wells raised his eyebrows in slight surprise, but then he slid his hand into Bellamy’s, shaking it firmly, genuinely. “It’s good to be back.”

“C’mon,” Raven said, tugging him forward. “I need to go see how much Wick has screwed with my projects.”

“You’ve been gone only a few days.”

“He’s  _Wick._ ”

“Do I get to throw something at him if he has?”

She grinned up at him, sliding her hand to the back of his neck. “Maybe just this once,” she murmured before pressing a kiss to his smiling mouth.

Wells chuckled, replying, “I mean, what else are ghost boyfriends for?”

“Oh, I bet I can think of a few things.”

“That sounds like a promise.”

“Damn straight, and it’s one I intended to keep.”

Raven tugged on his hand again–his warm, solid hand wrapped tightly in hers–joy filling her as she realized promises weren’t the only thing she planned on keeping this time around.

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution of Halloween spookiness this month. It was a bit of a challenge trying to get these characters' personalities down, especially with the supernatural element to it, so I'd love to hear what you thought!
> 
> Come find me on tumblr (kay-emm-gee)!


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